


Bad Habits

by Sinner_sister



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Biting, Church Sex, Confessional, Confessional Sex, Cowgirl Position, Dominance, F/M, Gloves, Hair-pulling, Strip Tease, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-20 22:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinner_sister/pseuds/Sinner_sister
Summary: Ilaria reminisces on the first couple of times she crossed paths with Papa Emeritus III before setting out to confront him and confess her sins.





	1. Introduction

_PRESENT  
It was dusk by the time Ilaria found herself in the sanctuary. She had procrastinated for most of the day, sitting in her quarters, postulating her next move. She was a new addition to the Church of Ghost (CoG) and she had taken her vows seriously when she was sworn in several weeks ago. But her mind had been reeling ever since that day. Him. The unholy head of the organization, Papa Emeritus III. Her encounters with him had been swift and brief at best. But they had left a lasting impression. _

PAST  
The first time she had seen him was her introduction to the church. During her escorted tour of the grounds, Ilaria trailed behind Sister Margherita, trying desperately to keep in line with her hurried pace. Ilaria’s legs were rather short. She was only 5’4” and Sister Margherita was unusually tall. So, for every stride the sister took, Ilaria’s pace doubled. As she trekked along the cobbled path of the courtyard, following the sister to the heart of the abbey, she watched her feet square up with the uneven stones of the walkway, trying her best not to twist her ankle. “Come along, child. We haven’t got all day,” Sister Margherita scolded. Ilaria’s glance shot upwards in earnest and that was when she saw him.  
  
For a moment, the world around her ceased to exist. She blinked, dumb-founded, as he walked down the corridor, coming towards her. He looked busy, focused on his task at hand. His pace was assertive, shoulders square, black satin vestments rippling with his motions. Ilaria’s pace slowed almost to a halt and in that sliver of an instance, his two-toned gaze locked with hers. Her stomach churned and she unconsciously bit her bottom lip until it nearly bled. Papa flashed a half-cocked smirk at her, his eyes glittering with an untold secret. His pace never faltered, and he breezed past Ilaria and turned the corner, gone like a ghost. “Ilaria!” Sister Margherita chided and she jolted at the sound of the sister’s voice, suddenly brought back to reality. She continued with the tour, her mind a flurry of thoughts on the exchange.  
  
Her second interaction occurred during her swearing in to the CoG. Upon making the decision to join the church, she first had to swear an oath to be ever faithful and fall in line with the legion of sisters already present. Ilaria stood at the altar, surrounded by sisters dressed in black. Her own habit was that of a bright red, one all inductees must wear during the swearing-in ceremony. She felt like a drop of blood amidst a black ocean. She was looking forward to acquiring her black habit.  
  
There was a hum of silence that pervaded the air as Papa entered the sanctuary. He emerged from the shadowy alcoves like a wolf peeling from the tree line. His stride was deliberate, as though a death knell dirge played for his approach. Ilaria thought back on the moment and began to wonder---was there actually music playing? She couldn’t be sure. She watched him drawing closer to the altar, her long blonde hair dripping over her shoulders as they shuddered in anticipation. He was the wolf and she was Red Riding Hood and for a sheer moment, she imagined he would devour her whole in some shocking, sacrificial ritual.  
  
He made his way up the several steps to the altar and there he stood, uncomfortably close to her. Ilaria could feel the swell amongst the sisters as their energy vibrated in unison. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as if she had been touched by someone gently. Papa gazed down at her, pupils expanding earnestly betwixt green and white eyes. He was so close she could feel his warm breath purling over her cheek as he leaned into her ear to whisper, “Welcome, Sister.” It was such an intimate exchange that Ilaria was taken aback. Papa pulled away slowly and locked eyes with her again and she was so rattled that she averted her gaze to the maple floorboards beneath her feet. He emitted a low hum and gently placed his gloved finger beneath her chin, lifting her head to lock eyes once more. One gold finger nail grazed the tender flesh at her throat. It was both threatening and intoxicating. “On your knees, Sister.” Ilaria blinked, wide-eyed, for a moment, startled by the request. But she looked around her to find all the black-cloaked sisters kneeling obediently in a crescent circle around them. She was certain her face flashed a bright red to match her habit. She knelt slowly, a whirring in her ears making it difficult to focus. She looked over his vestments, black velvet adorned with the grucifix stitched down the front with silver thread. The violet satin of his theatrical sleeves glimmered in the candle light and instantly left her wondering what he was hiding underneath.  
  
She felt one of his golden claws tickle her cheek patiently to urge her to look up at him again. Her blue eyes synced with his gaze and she could have sworn by the look he gave her, he knew what impure thoughts had just crossed her mind. He grinned at her and she blushed.  
  
The ceremony ended and Papa swept out of the side door of the sanctuary like a bat in the night. Ilaria stood, drunk on the feelings he left in her. Sister Margherita approached her, a sense of urgency in her gait. “Your new habit is hanging in your wardrobe. Please don’t be late for breakfast tomorrow. 7am sharp.” Ilaria nodded but the elder sister had already vanished.  
  
“Wow...” Ilaria heard a feminine voice utter behind her. She turned to find a girl sitting on the church bench, legs crossed in an unceremonious fashion. Ilaria could vaguely make out a tattoo along her upper thigh. Possibly a bird of some kind but couldn’t quite tell. Ilaria smiled at the stranger. She was a striking specimen. Her eyes a slate gray against her pale face, her black hair like a plat of satin that blended with her habit, making the two almost indistinguishable, if not for the sheen of her raven locks. “I’m Natale.” She states melodically, reaching behind her ear and pulling a gnarled cigarette from her wrinkled coif. Ilaria, unsure of what to say, sat down on the bench next to her. “Ilaria.” The black-haired vixen grinned, pulling a pack of matches from the inside of her tightly fitted boot, striking it on the bench and lighting her cigarette, effortlessly. “Yes, I know.” She replied, with a chuckle. Ilaria couldn’t help but laugh too as she sank her forehead in her palm. “Oh, yeah. Right.” Her initiation ceremony had just ended. Everyone who was present knew her name.  
  
“So, what did you mean when you said ‘wow’?” Ilaria inquired, eyeing Natale as she took a long drag and blew a plume of smoke upwards, her hair draping whimsically along the back of the bench. Natale turned and looked at Ilaria, eyebrow turned up quizzically. “I have seen my fair share of initiations. But that. That was different.” Ilaria didn’t understand. Although she had nothing to compare it to, she couldn’t grasp what made it so different. “Different how?” Natale scoffed with a chuckle of disbelief that she would have to spell it out. She stood up, the bench emitting a whispered creak from the release of her weight as she tossed the cigarette butt on the floor. She stepped on it with a bit too much aggression and kicked it under the bench. “Papa has a thing for you. Everyone saw it.”  
  
There was a pregnant pause. Ilaria, still seated on the bench, felt her face flush. She gulped as she thought back to the whisper in her ear and the feeling of his nails along her chin. The heat of his body was enthralling as she sat on her knees before him and upon the memory of it, she felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. Ilaria tried to muster up a deflecting response. “I am sure that’s not true.” A staccato “Hah!” fell from Natale’s lips that reverberated through the sanctuary in mocking echoes. “You’ll see.” She said, as she blew out the remaining candle on the altar. She opened the door leading out of the sanctuary, the very door Papa had used to leave after the ceremony. “Come on. Let’s go find some trouble.” Ilaria smirked, already enjoying the company of her new friend, and jumped from the bench to follow her into the dark hall.


	2. Forgive me, Papa...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilaria finds the courage to confess her sins to none other than Papa Emeritus III, himself, after weeks of avoidance and tension have transpired between them.

Ilaria lingered in the doorway at the front of the sanctuary. A sense of dread washed over her as she gazed down the aisle way to the confessional. She took a deep breath and for the briefest of moments, she had half a mind to turn around and go back to her quarters. She had waited weeks. She knew that a confession was expected at least once a week and the other sisters had already made it known that they were unimpressed by Ilaria’s ‘lack of devotion.’ Frankly, it had nothing to do with that.  
  
Her eyes drifted back down the carpeted aisle to the mahogany edifice looming in the shrouded back corner of the great hall. Ever since her arrival at the CoG, she had felt a sense of discomfort. Not because she felt unwelcome by her fellow sisters or other members of the congregation, but by her own thoughts that plagued her incessantly, day in and day out since the start. Those thoughts were the primary reason she was here---and the primary reason it took her so long to show up.  
  
She shook her head at the irony of it and scoffed under her breath. This was ridiculous. She straightened her shoulders and began her walk towards the confessional. The walk seemed much longer at the beginning of the journey than it turned out to be. 17 steps later, she found herself at the door of the structure, a grimace plastered on her face. She peered upwards, eyeing the rich ochre stain of the confessional door. The handle a two-toned brass, worn by years of use. Ornate spires adorned the peaks of its medieval arches, articulate wood carvings reaching towards the ceiling. A decorative stained-glass dormer with images of naked women dancing with a cloaked figure were illuminated by a candelabra within, an indication that Papa was waiting. Ilaria inhaled deeply, her breath sputtering like an old car engine failing to ignite. She clenched her fist and reached for the tarnished doorknob.  
  
She turned it to the right. Stuck. She turned it to the left. Fuck. She could feel the sweat begin to bead upon her brow. She closed her eyes and focused, turning the handle to the right once more, lifting up gently as she did. The hinges moaned softly, permitting her entrance. She pursed her lips and stepped up into the small space. It was oddly serene, especially considering Ilaria was extremely claustrophobic. A deep purple curtain hung loosely over a brass rod along the center of the back wall, the bench bedecked with a blood red velvet cushion. She closed the door behind her and noticed the roof was a crimson, untempered glass, with ripples like a stream and tiny air bubbles trapped haphazardly inside. The light of the sanctuary shone through, giving the interior of the small room a deep red wash. She sat down sheepishly, brushing invisible dust from her lap in an anxious motion. She noted the small cabinet-like door to her left and reaching for the knob, she slid it back to reveal a latticed opening.  
  
It was silent. She stood up in a half-perched position to peer into the room adjacent. It was pitch black. Ilaria bit the inside of her cheeks, debating if she should get up and leave. Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen today. She sat down and leaned against the wall with a sigh. “…Papa?” She whimpered, almost involuntarily. A silence hung in the air and just when she was about to stand to leave, he spoke. “Hello, Ilaria.” His tongue rolled deliciously over the ‘r’ in her name. Her fingers dug into the soft, antique wood of the bench. But wait—wasn’t this supposed to be anonymous? Now she was mortified. “I am glad you finally came.” Papa cooed, his voice like velvet on her ears. “Yes, Papa. I am sorry it took me so long.” She could hear him breathing calmly in the room beside her. “No need to apologize. I knew you would come, in your own time. Now share with me your penitents.”  
  
This was the moment she had feared and there was no turning back from it now. She took a deep breath and leaned backwards, her blonde hair like golden strands crumpling against the wall behind her. “Forgive me, Papa. For I have sinned.” The words emerged from her lips with more confidence than she had intended. “What are these sins you speak of, hmm?” Papa asked gently, his voice just barely above a whisper. It was making her melt. Was that his intention?  
  
Ilaria closed her eyes so tightly she felt they might fuse together forever. “Papa…” The sentence trailed as she stalled to complete the thought. He waited patiently for her to continue. “I have had impure thoughts.” She heard him shift in his seat, the bench letting out a groan that vibrated through to the bench she, herself, was sitting on. “Tell me of these thoughts.” He coaxed. She was struggling to eloquently articulate herself and the blood was rushing to her face. “Papa, they are impure thoughts of you.” She blurted, her hand partially hanging over her mouth, slightly muffling her words. She pinched her bottom lip between her sharp, black finger nails, jaw agape as she let out an open-mouthed sigh. Papa emitted a contemplative sound almost like a humming in the back of his throat and said, “You must tell me exactly what these thoughts are—paint a picture with your words. Only then can absolution be yours, Sister.” His words were convincing. Ilaria’s eyes grew large and her brow furrowed with worry. She was trying to keep it together. Did he honestly expect her to tell him, verbatim, what these thoughts were?  
  
She traced her finger nail along the age-old knots in the wooden wall and in that moment, she flashed back to Papa’s gilded nails along the underside of her chin and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Her breathing began to quicken at the thought and the words spilled out of her suddenly, without reservation. “I imagine your hands tracing the curves of my waist, the heat of your breath on the nape of my neck. I imagine the taste of you on my tongue and how deep your kiss might be.” Ilaria paused, rubbing her neck and running her fingers through her hair in desperation, inhaling deeply. Papa’s voice erupted the silence in a commanding tone, “Keep going.” She couldn’t help but smirk devilishly. “I think about your mouth on my breasts and your fingers teasing me until I beg you to take me. I imagine slapping your cock on my tongue as you pull my hair.” She heard him release a breathy, painful moan. Feverish, she continued. “I want to feel you inside of me. All of you. I want you to fuck me so hard I scream your name.” Ilaria slowly spread her legs and slid her hand beneath her black garment to touch herself. She was soaking wet at the very thought of him and the red bench cushion was damp beneath her. She rarely wore underwear and today was no different. Her fingers slipped down her wet slope and fell inside and she let out a gasp of pleasure.  
  
Papa grew impatient once more, his breaths were quick and rhythmic. “What else, Sister?” His words were strained and urgent. Ilaria was finding it hard to concentrate on speaking, but she pressed on. “I want you to tease me. Tell me I can’t cum until I have your blessing, Papa.” Her fingers stroked more aggressively, sliding up to rub her clit and back inside in a fluid motion. She moaned deeply, biting her bottom lip and pressing her head against the wall, arching her back deeper into the sweeping movement of her own fingers. She was brimming on the edge of orgasm when a sudden burst of warm light flooded the room as the door swung open violently. Ilaria gasped, startled and flushed, and her eyes had to adjust to the shift of the red-washed lighting she had grown accustomed to. A silhouette hovered in the doorway, broad shouldered and tense. “I don’t remember giving you my blessing, mia cara.” Papa chided, his tone dripping with mischief. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, his visage coming into focus to Ilaria’s strained eyes. Papa stood before her in his trim black suit and she almost didn’t recognize him without his formal vestments. “On your knees, Sister.” He growled. Her confession had only just begun…


	3. Cry for Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilaria is suddenly interrupted by Papa in the confessional after a session of dirty talk between them has driven him over the edge. He plans to absolve her sins a different way. Slowly and deliberately.

Ilaria blinked at Papa, still slightly jarred by his sudden appearance. She had not left her position on the bench, legs clenched, her hand tucked between them beneath her black skirt after having been interrupted amidst her throes of self-pleasure. He hovered in the corner directly across from her, his hands sanctimoniously folded behind his back. He stared down at her, waiting for her to acquiesce to his command. She gulped, frozen upon the bench. She was in shock and although he had given her a directive, for some reason, she did not know what to do next.  
  
Time stood still between them and she gazed up at him, the dimly lit space making it difficult to see anything but the stark white of his left eye. They locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity and just when she thought they would stay that way forever, he began to move towards her slowly, the expression on his face remaining unchanged. Ilaria shifted in her seat as he swiftly approached, needing only to take a couple of steps before he was standing right before her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body. Ilaria slowly pulled her hand from between her legs and placed both of her hands, palms down, on the bench, lightly brushing against her hips. In that moment, Papa broke their prolonged eye contact, his gaze sweeping over Ilaria’s body as she sat before him. She took that moment to allow her eyes to wander. The fabric of his suit casting a dull sheen in the red light and her eyes landed on the bulge of his pants, seams fit to bursting at the pressure of his cock against the zipper, begging to be unleashed.  
  
She felt the cotton linen of his white glove brush under her chin, her thoughts of reaching for the button of his pants, interrupted. She was eager but did not want to rush. She wished to savor every moment of this and had half a mind to pinch herself so as to wake from what might be yet another one of her dreams. But before she could act on the childish impulse, she felt his gloved thumb graze her bottom lip, running over it slowly as he watched it pout to one side with the pressure of his finger. Ilaria felt her mouth begin to water as he gently slid his thumb over her chin, pulling down on her lip to allow her mouth to barely drop open. She looked up at him obediently as he slowly slid his thumb inside, the stiff fabric of the glove absorbing the saliva that pooled over her tongue in anticipation of receiving just the smallest part of him. He threw a greedy smile down at her as he pushed his thumb a bit deeper into her mouth. She opened a bit wider to allow him access and she could tell he approved as she observed his other hand clench into a tight fist against his side. When his thumb could go no deeper, he began to pull his finger from her mouth but as he pulled away, she swiftly grazed her teeth along the linen and before his finger could escape her, her teeth gripped to the fabric at the tip of his thumb. He pulled against her bite and the glove slipped from his hand like satin over marble. She smirked up at him, the glove hanging from her mouth.  
  
“Tsk tsk.”  
  
Papa playfully chastised, wagging his naked finger at her, the veins on the top of his hand bulging just beneath the skin. She dropped the glove from her mouth and let it fall to the floor. It landed perfectly between her feet.  
  
Papa’s bare hand slid along the side of her neck and tucked behind her ear and the feeling of flesh on flesh was shocking and exhilarating. His warm fingers ran upwards through her blonde hair and Ilaria felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. She was so hungry for him. But she remained steadfast in her desire to take it all in. His hand dropped and as it did, so did he in one slow and deliberate motion. Ilaria’s heart was racing as she watched him descend before her. His eyes locked with hers once more as he reached down to the floor. Ilaria’s breathing began to quicken, certain that he was crouched to pick up the white glove she had dropped moments before. But instead, she felt the brush of his finger tips along the exposed top of her foot. She twitched at the unexpected contact, her black stiletto pumps sliding haphazardly along the hardwood floors creating a sound like sandpaper on a wall. He eyed her earnestly, urging her to be still without words. The tips of his bare fingers traced along the inside of her ankle and trailed up her leg until his palm was along the back of her calf. He set her skin alight and every nerve in her body was firing on all cylinders. His hands were soft but not too soft. His touch was electric. He slid further up and stopped at the back of her knee as he tucked his fingers between the crease where her calf and her thigh met, never once breaking eye contact with her. Ilaria wanted to look away, she wanted to tilt her head back and close her eyes and fall into the ecstasy of his hand on her leg, but she knew that she could not. She was hypnotized by him and was so deep in his trance that his green and white gaze was all she could see.  
  
He lingered for a moment and Ilaria’s skin was red-hot beneath his touch. She wanted to beg, for what exactly she did not know, but she wanted to plead with him to give her more. Her eyes were burning into his and without any thought, they darted to his lips, longing to feel them on her—anywhere. Papa needed no other invitation. His right hand continued sliding up the inside of her right thigh and she exhaled as his fingertips met the lips of her soft pussy against the red velvet bench seat. His eyes glittered, thrilled at her lack of undergarments.  
  
_Why did he keep stopping? Patience. Patience._  
  
She must have been wearing her agony on her face because Papa began to chuckle under his breath as he looked up into her eyes and could see the pain he was inflicting, and he was drinking it all in. She could feel herself dripping down onto cushion. Papa’s hand did not move. He repositioned himself onto his knees and in an instant, Ilaria felt his left hand grip her right buttock, squeezing the fabric of her skirt. She gasped lightly at the abrupt movement, not for a moment able to ignore the tips of his fingers tickling the lips of her pussy. The muscles in his left arm flexed as he began to pull her hips closer to him, his palm along her backside in a possessive display. She felt herself begin to slide forward in his grip against the cushion and with each inch his fingers began to burrow deeper inside of her. First it was his thumb, gently touching her clit, rubbing in circles along the wet crevices of her. She cried out in gratitude at being touched in the perfect place. His eyes were transfixed on her, watching as she ached before him. He slid her further onto his fingers, introducing her to his index and middle. Papa emitted a groan as he soaked up the warmth of her in his hand; fingers all but sucked inside as her pelvis rose as if to seek him. He started slowly, his two fingers inching inside of her as his thumb continued to swirl against her clit. Ilaria’s breath sputtered in her chest at the slow movements of his hand inside of her.  
  
Papa’s left hand shifted from her buttocks and up to the small of her back, like a viper working its way up a tree. Ilaria could feel the spread of his remaining gloved hand span open, his thumb drawing an imaginary line down her spine. She shivered. His fingers were plunging into her now with a deep urgency, the sound of his hand slapping against her wet mound driving her into a stupor. She began to lean backwards but Papa did not allow it. He pulled her into him suddenly, slumping her lithe body over his shoulder like a rag doll. His hand disappeared inside of her, fingers sinking deeper still, as his palm cupped her clit, creating a vacuum. The vigor of his hand did not relent. Her cheek pressed into the black padded shoulder of his jacket as she released staccato breaths onto his neck. She could feel herself brimming closer to orgasm and she arched her back, grinding her hips in a circular motion over his hand to match his rhythm. Papa turned his face towards her and whispered into her small shell of an ear,  
  
“Cum for me.”  
  
As if on command, the sound of his soft Italian lyrics sent her over the edge, her walls contracting around his hand in a cacophonous symphony. Her cries rang through the confessional and bled into the sanctuary like a choir at mass.  
  
The convulsions slowed and her body was vibrating, but Papa was far from finished. Ilaria sighed, breathless, still draped over his shoulder. He snaked his hand from between her legs and propped her upright before standing. Her eyes followed him, still drunk with lust. Refusing to wait for a command this time, Ilaria stood to meet him on his feet, her heels clicking on the hollow floor. Without wasting any time, her hands wound over his chest and under the lapels of his coat, wrapping them around his broad shoulders and letting the jacket drop to the floor. His hands mindlessly began to grope at her breasts in an effort to unzip her habit, but she gripped him by the wrists accompanied by a mocking “Tsk tsk,” before placing his hands at his sides once more. She could sense his curiosity as he was clearly accustomed to being the aggressor. But she wanted to take control and Papa conceded with an anxious growl. She pushed him against the wall behind him, fumbling below his waist line for the button of his trousers. With a gentle tug she slipped the button out of place and pulled the zipper down. Papa stared at her, lips pursed like a tutor awaiting a pupil’s answer to a question. She knew he was angry he could not touch her and she grinned, amused at his frustration. His loosely fitted pants dropped around his ankles and revealed a fully commando Papa. Ilaria expected nothing less from the deviant clergy. His swollen cock bobbed enticingly between the two white points of his shirt tails. Papa was growing antsy and hanging in the open air before her, his member only continued to stand taller at attention. She wanted to grab it, to put it in her mouth and swirl her tongue around the perfect pink head. But instead, she took two steps backwards and Papa’s eyes grew larger, unable to disguise his hunger beneath his game face any longer. He leaned off the wall just so but before he could come any closer, Ilaria held her hand up in a stopping motion, eyebrows raised in question, insisting he return to his helpless stance against the wall. Papa groaned, biting the inside of his cheeks, clearly flustered. He said nothing and did as he was directed.  
  
Ilaria took this moment to look over Papa as he stood against the confessional wall, exposed, with his pants wrung around his feet. The red-washed lighting seeped in through the stained-glass ceiling and she ran her black finger nails through her long blonde hair seductively. Her hands slowly dripped down her cheeks and onto her neck and she took her breasts in her hands, her black habit crumpling beneath her grip. She reached for the zipper at the front her garment and unzipped it, locking eyes with Papa, whose hands were digging into the wall at his sides, one gloved and one bare. His eyes were filled with an animalistic lust she had never seen before but he remained composed. She stopped the zipper at her navel, a black bra barely visible between the opening of the garment. With one slender finger, she slipped the fabric over her shoulder, allowing it to drop behind her, asymmetrically hanging around her right hip, the other side still secured atop her left shoulder. She cut eyes at him, her head turned downwards at an angle and in one gentle sweep of her body, she curved herself in like a swan through water and the habit fainted from her feminine form and onto the floor. She stood before him, black bra, no panties, standing in her black stilettos. She craned her arm around to unhook her bra and like the snapping of a taught cable, her breasts came spilling out. She slunk her shoulders from the straps and it dropped to the floor, accompanying the rest of their clothes. She stood before him, entirely naked, save for her shoes, her hair washing over her shoulders and gently sweeping over her hardened nipples.  
  
Ilaria made her way back to him, gracefully stepping out of the misshapen hoop of the garment at her feet, the sound of her high heels on the floor breaking the deafening silence between them. Papa’s body tensed involuntarily at her approach, his hands itching to reach for her but he refrained. Ilaria stepped so close to him, she could feel the soft head of his cock pressing along the inside of her thigh. One by one, she unfastened the buttons of his ivory shirt, revealing his tender flesh, smooth and virtually hairless. Trying her best to ignore the urgent pulsing of his member on her thigh, she slid the coarse linen shirt from his body, his caramel-colored nipples so stiff they could cut glass.  
  
Papa’s breathing was surprisingly steady, despite his heightened state. Ilaria shifted her body just slightly, allowing his persistently throbbing cock to find the space where her thighs met, the pinnacle of her wet mound dripping for him. In a side-stepping motion, she parted her legs and her ocean dripped onto his veiny member. He gasped at the sensation of her moist lips along his shaft and she moaned in response. She took a step backwards and grabbed his dick in her small hand and he could restrain himself no longer. His gloved hand landed firmly on her waist, his fingers digging into her skin. Ilaria gushed, his cock still in her palm as she felt his bare hand grip hers, closing his fist around her fist. He squeezed her small hand and in unison, she squeezed, his cock swelling in her grasp. Together they held his member and in an instant, Papa gained control once more. He took the back of her legs in his hands, adjusting her legs around his waist. She gasped, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her nipples rising as they brushed against the warmth of his chest. The wild look in his eyes promised he would show no mercy after having to wait so long to touch her.  
  
Papa kicked off his shoes and stepped from his trousers, turning to place himself on the bench, Ilaria seated in his lap, straddling him. Her knees kissed the familiar red cushion on the bench and he grasped one of her breasts in his hand, pulling her to his mouth and consuming her. His gloved hand reached around and gripped her ass and she tensed as she felt his covered fingers run down the crack between her cheeks. She pulled his attention from her breast, turning his chin up to her and crashed her mouth down on his, strands of blonde hair slipping between their lips as they kissed. Her fingers raced through his jet-black hair and his hands ran over her shoulder blades and swooped around over her shoulders. The difference in sensation between one bare and one covered hand was driving her mad with pleasure. She could feel the prodding of his member grazing outside the most sensitive part of her as he flexed it sporadically, lightly brushing back and forth along the lips of her wet peach. Their tongues danced inside of their mouths and she dipped her hips lower so his cock could further tease her until she was dripping like a gutter in a rain storm.  
  
When she could take the agony no more, she broke their kiss, smiling through blonde lashes, mind set on her next mission. She slid her right hand down between his groin and hers, he lifted a little to let her through. She leaned back and reached between her legs in pursuit of his cock. She held him, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of his member in her hand once more. It was warm and solid and Papa’s mouth dropped, releasing a starved exhale as his cock pulsated in her grip. Sitting up on her knees slightly, she guided him inside, her tits swinging in his face and without a warning, Papa bucked, entering her with a sharp blow and split her in two with a forceful upward thrust of his hips. Ilaria cried out in delicious agony as he disappeared inside of her. He gripped her by the hips and she collapsed onto his shoulder in beautiful submission, sinking her teeth into the crook of his neck. He responded with a growl but he wanted to see her and in a display of adoration and aggression, he pulled back at her hair like torn silk. Her head thwarted backwards to offer up her throat and he drove himself harder into her as he kissed her neck with reckless abandon. Ilaria gripped his hair in her hands and with a gentle tug, pressed her hips down, forcing more of him into her. He let her pace the occasion, grinding her hips down onto him and she could almost cry at the feeling of his thick member filling her up so deeply.  
  
Her back arched away from him as she focused on the sensation of his swollen head hitting the innermost part of her and he groaned for a moment, grabbing her by the waist and stilling her movements. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He was close to climax and he lifted her off his cock to cool down, his tip kissing the outer rim of her pussy, only to feed it in again with a guiding hand. She was a slippery mess and Ilaria watched his face as she took him in slowly like an eel slinking into a cave. She rotated herself around him once more, pulling up slightly and back down in fluid motions, her juices dripping over his balls and drenching the bench seat. Her pace began to quicken and her eyes closed briefly but Papa turned her head to face him, looking deeply into her wanton eyes. He pumped into her, his two-toned gaze never breaking and said,  
  
“Now.”  
  
He gripped her chin in his gloved hand and drilled her harder, forcing her to look into his eyes as her muscles began to tremor. He kept pushing into her until her body, like a cathedral, broke out into a ringing. She was consumed by convulsions, exaltations, a flooding sensation, that far exceeded her first orgasm, which seemed like hours ago.  
  
“—oh, Papa!”  
  
Ilaria cried and at the sound of his name, he burst himself further into her, feeling her walls constrict over him and he could stave off his eruption no longer, the knot at the root of his cock dissolving in fire and melted into her in filamented spurts. She could feel his hot cum filling her up and she lifted her hips upwards and proceeded to rub his bursting cock along her clit. The sensation drove him mad and his hands gripped the red cushion in agonizing pleasure. He cried out, exasperated and when his cock had finished regurgitating, Ilaria relaxed the muscles in her legs as they commenced to tremble. Papa caught his breath, his hands searching over her waist lazily. They remained intertwined, her legs sprawling out about his hips and she dropped her forehead to his chest. She kissed the soft flesh just above his nipple, opening her mouth slightly to taste the salty beads of sweat she had created. Papa’s lips dappled her shoulder lightly with a primal grunt.  
  
“You should confess more often, Sister.”  
  
He said, suddenly, his voice low and spent. Ilaria chuckled at his jest, expecting no less from him in such a tired, tender moment.  
  
“Yes, Papa,” she cooed with a smile.


End file.
